


Warm and Soft

by jamlockk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femlock, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, Not Beta Read, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, even softer John, it was going to be porny but I failed to smut, soft sherlock, this is just ladies in love being fluffy, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: This is a gift for my 'love'.





	Warm and Soft

John woke up warm. Comfy, snuggly warm. Ahhhh, lovely. She cuddled back into the source of the warmth for a few seconds before her brain kicked in and she realised what it was. Oh. Oh crap. 

That soft, lean body behind her was awfully familiar. She could feel the gentle swell of Sherlock’s breasts pressed against her back, their legs were entwined and at some point in the night John had grabbed Sherlock’s hand, pulled Sherlock’s arm over her and tucked their joined hands underneath her own waist. They were spooning. Sherlock was going to be furious, John embarrassed, and the delicate gossamer thread slowly pulling them closer together to what John actually wanted would be forever torn. 

Shit. 

Well, it wasn’t as if John had actually harboured any real hopes of having more than a very deep, meaningful friendship with Sherlock. That whole ‘married to the work’ thing had put paid to that over their first dinner. Not that Sherlock actually ate anything then. Not that Sherlock ate much even now, John still coaxed and cajoled and secretly loved it when Sherlock dramatically conceded to Chinese takeaway on the sofa. So good, those nights. Just the two of them, curled up in their chairs reading, or John creasing herself with laughter at Sherlock’s commentary of some crappy movie they’d found on tv, bony feet tucked under John’s bum as they watched from the sofa. As much as John admired and adored case-Sherlock, 221B-Sherlock was actually her favourite. 

And so what if Sherlock had dropped the occasional hint, it didn’t actually mean she’d consider a relationship with John, right? Expressing an aesthetic appreciation for Gloria, the embezzler who looked like Clea Duvall (“Hmm, I agree she’s highly attractive. Honestly John, I’m not blind!”), that didn’t mean anything. Surely? John had had a few dates since moving in, but Sherlock hadn’t ever mentioned it, hadn’t even seemed at all interested in Ian Adler, despite-

“You’re thinking too loudly.”

The soft puff of Sherlock’s breath across her ear was almost too much. John jumped out of the wonderful cocoon of the bed and turned to stare at Sherlock. Her eyes seemed to be glowing in the low light of the room, sable curls fanned out across the crisp white linen, full lips drawn into an increasingly uncertain smile. 

“Sherlock?”

“Come back to bed, John. Please?”

It was the quiet entreaty that broke John’s resolve. She climbed back into bed and was immediately enveloped, lips meeting Sherlock’s as if they’d always been doing this. Kissing each other. Kissing Sherlock. The thought caused a soft moan to escape John’s throat, and Sherlock moved to chase it. 

“Wait, wait!” John sat up and pushed Sherlock’s mouth away from the sensitive spot on her neck. Sherlock dutifully fell back a few inches, still lying as close as physically possible in their current positions, and began to pout. 

“Really, John. This wasn’t a problem last night! Now you suddenly have concerns?!” 

“Wait, last night…?” John repeated in confusion. “What…? What the hell happened last night?”

Sherlock frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“No Sherlock, I don’t, so please enlighten me!” 

Sherlock sighed, huffed and sat up all at once. John noticed she was wearing only a thin t-shirt and panties, and then tried not to notice anything else as warmth flooded into her stomach. Sherlock was watching her, eyes narrowed and nose crinkled in a familiar, calculating expression. John met her gaze unflinchingly, struggling to ignore the arousal coursing through her groin at the scrutiny. She’d always found Sherlock’s mind attractive, and being the centre of all Sherlock’s attention was incredibly hot. 

“We solved the case. Tedious. You hadn’t slept properly since Thursday, and were almost catatonic by the time we returned to the hotel. I admit I was a little tired too.”

John snorted a laugh. Sherlock looked sharply at her then continued. 

“We decided to go straight to bed, but some useless peon of Mycroft’s had made a mistake and there was only one bed. You crashed onto it, not terribly gracefully and fully dressed I might add, for just under nine minutes at which point you woke, got undressed, mumbled to me about ‘just get in the bloody bed Sherlock,’ and appeared to doze off. I… complied.”

Sherlock began to look a little uncertain, and her voice was quiet when she next spoke. John reached out without thinking and stroked Sherlock’s hand in reassurance. Sherlock blinked, and John decided that it didn’t really matter how they’d gotten here. Just that they had. And-

“I kissed you. When you came to bed. I rolled over, kissed you and-”

“Said ‘goodnight, love.’” Sherlock finished softly. “You called me ‘love’.”

John laughed under her breath, gathered her courage and leaned forward. The kiss was everything John had ever wanted, and when Sherlock sighed in relief she knew she’d made the right choice. She pulled back slowly, trying to capture Sherlock’s face, radiant with delight. 

“I called you ‘love’, because you are. Loved, I mean. By me. I’m… I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” John whispered. 

“Never,” Sherlock replied, and tentatively leaned forward to seek another kiss. John happily obliged.


End file.
